Emptiness that feels

Give me the antidote

for this poison I abhorred and learnt to ignore.

Give the antidote that shedding vessels denies to the core.

I never wished to drink from the bitter river

which divests the Dark Dreamer

from the revelations of existence.

How can a heart suffer in absence of pain?

Her face – branded, paralyzed, and pale.

The mirror she held as life said farewell.

The death of the innocent.

It is all emptiness, yet I cascade!

I cascade with the grief of a foreign sentiment.

Forgive me, Your Majesty;

for thou didst meet thy end,

and no mercy caressed thee

‘fore the tearing of the flesh.

Thou took’st thy leave in blasphemy,

and truth remained unseen

amidst the lines of neglected poetry.

And truth was buried still…

destroying images of me.

~*~

I am sorry.

Wound from the Cold Torch

Image by emsalgado from Pixabay

Wail the winter of thy harvest.

Forbear to sacrifice the sun to the hoarfrost;

for the river ran its course with the autumn laws.

Bleed upon the tombstone of thy own core.

Withhold thy kiss from the lips of loss,

and thus thy hands from the sepulcher of love.

Return to the void whence thou crawled’st,

and with thee take the subjugating chains of conscience.

Illusionist and woe of serpentine discordance,

be exiled to the gutter of the fallen!

Remember what was to thee promised:

there is no life for thy venomed calling.